The Pink Chair

In my lime-green room there lives a pink chair. I say "lives" because it is no doubt a friend of mine Much too loyal.

Every day, I come home from school And no, I don't sit in it.

I dump my backpack into its plush folds Lay my outfit for the next day across the top And it certainly hates me for it.

I hardly even look at it; It's a cheap, hand-me-down chair from somebody that I used to know.

It's a sickly pink(my least favorite color) and It doesn't go with my room at all.

When chairs gain artificial intelligence I am definitely screwed. Not sitting in a chair Will be a crime And I, a criminal for mistreating objects.

By that time, I will be putting my briefcase into a nice chair New, shiny, and not pink. I will like this chair. My friend the pink chair will live In a dump.

I use "friend" in the case of the pink chair Because once it's gone My room will be devoid of friends I will live somewhere else And I will remember the ugly, plastic, cheap Pink chair And hope that it makes a new friend

A better friend than me

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